station72 | [hatch log] everything happens so much

[hatch log] everything happens so much

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :039
SUMMARY: New faces and old losses - a hatch occurs and a number of older hosts go comatose. Coma'd hosts include all auto-piloted dropped characters to date.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and suddenly you're a different person. No. That's not right. You're you and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or like surfacing up from the darkness of the ocean and right there in your own head there's something both familiar and strange. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye. While it’s impossible to tell exactly how long ago or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck, you're certain it was more than a moment ago.

But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small faintly hexagonal chamber, a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been briefly calmed. There's something strangely peaceful about waking up here. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. Maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party happening behind a closed door.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone. The closer you are to these stranger, the louder the sound in your head becomes. --Actually they're not quite strangers either, are they? Something is wound about and between you and these people, whoever they are, are as familiar as this place you've never been is.

Welcome to Station 72. The air buzzes with activity. Somewhere deep in the Station, other minds call to yours. They are bright, brilliantly celebratory spots in your subconscious. They are sun-warm gentle, or they are fire and the taste of ash, or they are a vibrant frenetic whirl, or they are a tangled garden, or they are the feeling of flight through dense cirrus clouds. No two links are exactly the same, but you know for certain that you are connected to all of them in at least some small way.

Which is why it's easy to tell when something goes terribly wrong:

OLD HOSTS
THE ENDORPHIN RUSH of making it back to Station 72 (relatively) unharmed, having successfully acquired exactly what you'd set out to get your hands on can't be denied. Even if you're not necessarily the type to celebrate, there's no ignoring the thrumming celebratory sensation from those Hosts who are.

After a few hours of being back in the void, something else stirs in the air: the clear, prickling sensation of new hosts hatching on the Nesting Deck. They're a rush of mental information - as if someone's turned the volume on the radio all the way up -, a cacophony of sensation and emotional feedback for anyone unprepared to shield against it.

The swell of feeling might make it easy to miss what follows immediately after: the dull, gut-deep quiet as The Darkling, Chuuya Nakahara, and Nasu Rei go suddenly comatose.

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new hosts. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care do. You can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE. You can find additional setting information about the Station HERE If you have any questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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I don't think it works like that.

[ It hadn't been as bad as this after the robots. Bellamy doesn't know enough about the consequences of using their symbiotes to be able to gauge whether the length of time they're in use has an effect. He doesn't remember much about the cart, taking them to prison on Concordia. He'd been so sick. It had been hard to focus on anything when he couldn't stop puking and fever was burning coherent thought out of his mind.

But he's clear now. Murphy grips his hand tightly without any pretense, and that's enough of a tell. ]

It'll pass. And I've got you until it does.

[ He can undo the straps holding Murphy into his seat without breaking contact. That's a start, at least. ]

[Bellamy unbuckling the belts is motivation enough to move, to stand up. He still can. The floor is under his feet, the walls of the ship around him, his body still works. Nothing feels right, but it's not like Bellamy's sickness.]

It's nothing. You don't need to stick around.

[His grip doesn't slacken at all, but the prospect of Bellamy hovering over him for however long when he doesn't really need it sounds aggravating. Embarrassing. Vulnerable the way it had when Bellamy was wrapping his hands, present and immediate and a level of care Murphy was still unused to experiencing from him.

And he knows Bellamy has to have other concerns.]

Go check on your brood or whatever.

[ Maybe if Murphy's grip had loosened, Bellamy would have felt secure enough to leave him. But Murphy holds on tightly, and it just underscores Bellamy's initial impression: this isn't nothing. It might not be fever and nausea crippling Murphy, but there's something else wrong. Even if he can't define it, he's certain of it. He holds on. ]

I know they're safe. I can feel it.

[ Which isn't bullshit. The gentle press of their minds is present in the back of Bellamy's head. No one's injured. He can give the lion's share of his attention to Murphy without hesitation. ]

No need to try and get rid of me that fast.

[ Bellamy fully, stubbornly plans on sticking around long enough to at least see Murphy back to his room. And longer than that, if he'd allow it. ]

Just trying to give you an out, man.

[It's not totally untrue, even considering how he has to pull it up as a defence for Bellamy calling him out. He and whatever was wrong in his head weren't Bellamy's responsibility. But then, thinking about how he didn't have to stay only threw Murphy further into that uncertainty, vulnerability.]

You're not locked up with me this time.

[He doesn't realise he's been staring, long and blank, at the space above Bellamy's shoulder. Everything he looks at is fall away, featureless and disconnected. Focussing - even paying attention enough to try and pretend - has fallen as pointless. He holds onto Bellamy's hand, talks to Bellamy, with nothing else rising by its own power to occur as an option, a thing to be done.]

[ In all the time Bellamy has known Murphy, he's never known him to be so still. There's no suggestion of agency or movement in him that Bellamy doesn't instigate. It's unsettling. Regardless, he draws Murphy forward, watching intently to be sure Murphy's balance isn't affected. ]

I don't need an out.

[ He can't claim that he'd leave if he didn't want to be involved with what's happening to Murphy. Bellamy had always taken things onto his shoulders that he didn't have to, and he'd never been able to put them down. But he could say with completely certainty that he didn't want to abandon Murphy to ride out whatever this affliction was on his own. Bellamy had been lucky to have someone with him through the first and worst of his blowback. And he knows Murphy would have stayed with him through the second go round if they hadn't been separated in jail. ]

You wanna tell me what you're feeling?

[He moves when he's drawn to do so with no problem, his gaze even dropping to check the floor, rising back up again at Bellamy's question. His mouth tugs, sharp, bitter humour.]

How about "nothing".

[An exaggeration of something already severe, but how to describe it eludes him. All the hours of listening to Bellamy read down on Shril and he'd think something would've sunk in, but it's hard to find the edges of this, relate it. And he can only think of one comparison.]

You know I was there, right? The island ALIE came from. [The island Jaha brought her from, but the mess of things connected to that isn't something to get caught in right now.] She could talk to anyone there, didn't need to take the chip and have her in your head. They'd made her look like Becca, the woman who coded her, but when she looked at you it was just nothing. [He lifts his free hand, waves it in front of his face, like the gesture will communicate the flat blank of ALIE's expressions, her eyes.] Empty.

[He wonders if the City of Light had been the same. If anyone who'd seen it had the mind to notice or care. If he would have, if he'd taken the chip, stuck forever in something like this. His grip tightens on Bellamy's hand.]

That's what everything looks like right now.

[ Bellamy's quiet. He remembers the flat look of the guards when they'd had him on his knees, bound and waiting for any news of Clarke. When they'd moved, it was as if someone had turned a switch. He never saw ALIE, but the comparison is unsettling. His grip tightens unconsciously on Murphy's hand. ]

It's going to pass.

[ Even if this seems like a more severe reaction than what Bellamy had noticed from Murphy after the robot battle. ]

Can you feel this?

[ Bellamy squeezes his hand hard again as his shifts their packs on his shoulder. Murphy's speaking, seems to be present in the moment, but that isn't enough to deter Bellamy from reaching out to nudge at the edges of his mind as if to leak secondhand sensation to him. ]

Yeah, I can feel that.

[He snaps, wincing at how strong Bellamy's grip had been for that moment. Any other time and his reaction would be to wrench away, but then, any other time and he probably wouldn't be holding Bellamy's hand in the first place.

Annoyance is an easier response to stick with than think about that too hard. Or how he doesn't want to let go.]

Pretty sure I'll definitely feel it if you break my fingers off, too.

[And he can feel Bellamy pressing closer, reaching through the line strung between them. That makes no difference, whatever this was draped full and heavy over him, encompassing. Thought occurs and he pushes back, sudden, jolt of concern striking through him that it could drag Bellamy down as well.]

[ Bellamy's already concerned. The additional spike rattles his composure, and he falters, grip tightening on Murphy's hand again. Watching Murphy had been eerie to start with, and as much as Bellamy would steadfastly reassure Murphy that it was going to be fine once he'd ridden out the after-effects, Murphy's panic hooks into everything he'd been concealing since he found him unmoving, still strapped into the seat. His steps falter momentarily. ]

I'm not going to break off your fingers.

[ Saying that, forcing his voice steady, it feels like when he used to reassure Octavia on the Ark. Futile. He quickens his pace. ]

I'm trying to figure out how to help.

[ He'd tell Murphy to stop complaining, but right now, Murphy's complaints are the most normal thing about the situation. ]

[It's one tight squeeze too far, and Murphy stops, abruptly, yanking his hand free.]

Yeah, you could've fooled me.

[As he stretches and curls his fingers, rolls his wrist, stretches again. Any ache Bellamy's grip had caused is minor, doesn't need all the exercise. And Murphy's alone. Stood in a station corridor with Bellamy, but alone. Removed, everything around him close and yet impossibly far away. He closes his eyes, grimacing.]

Okay, fine. [He reaches his hand back out to Bellamy, reluctant, completely resentful of the feeling in his head and the fact this seemed to be the only thing free of it.] It helps.

[ The urge to be petty about all of this presents itself. Bellamy could make him wait. But Murphy had given over to his power to save them all. Spiting him is counterproductive in a way Bellamy can't abide. He laces their fingers together securely, and draws Murphy into step beside him. ]

This helped me too, [ He admits, casting back to the first, accidental triggering of his powers. ] It doesn't feel the same after I hurt someone, but holding on to another person makes it easier to ride out the after effects.

[ But no matter what, it will never be easy to feel your body spin out beyond your control. He can't sense exactly what's wrong with Murphy, and he tries to empathize as best he can, but Bellamy suspects he isn't gaining as much ground as he wishes he were. But they're close, regardless. Once Murphy's safe in his room, Bellamy would feel fractionally better if Murphy told him to get lost. ]

[Moving again is better. Murphy would rather focus on that than think too much about how the world's hollowed out around him, or how Bellamy's hand in his is like the only source of light in a dead, flat darkness. But Bellamy doesn't give him that option, and his attempts to empathise only rile, draw frustration to the surface.]

I'm not a kid, Bellamy. [Derisive, sharp.] It's helping because you, for whatever twisted brain bug reason, feel real. Not because it gets me all warm and squishy inside.

[Though the chances of him admitting if he was taking comfort from physical contact with Bellamy were low.]

I'm not saying you're a kid.

[ Bellamy sounds irritated, and mildly ashamed of himself for being irritated. ]

I'm saying it helps.

[ And he's trying to make Murphy feel less alone in the overwhelming after effects of having used his powers. They round the last corner, and Bellamy tugs him down the hall towards his room. ]

Can you sleep this off, do you think?

[He's right on that, at least, and Murphy doesn't bother argue it further - how he'd framed it, how he couldn't know what this was like. How it helped. They're almost at their rooms, but nearing the goal doesn't promise any kind of relief.]

No. [Only a beat of hesitation, and it's solid, certain.] I'm not trying that.

[It'd be great if he could. Just pass out for a while, wake up when it was done. But he doesn't want to know what it's like, having his eyes closed while he's feeling this.]

Edited 2017-06-28 21:43 (UTC)

Alright.

[ Maybe Bellamy could have pushed it, but he senses the way Murphy rebels at the very idea and lets it go. It won't help. Bellamy doesn't need to debate it any further. ]

I can come in with you.

[ And stay until the aftereffects of his power pass. Bellamy wants to make it out like this is a choice, but he doesn't know how he'll be able to let go of Murphy even if Murphy asks him to. ]

[The immediate objection rises again, that he isn't a kid, that he doesn't need babysitting. But if Bellamy doesn't come in with him then he's just going to be on his own in the room. It isn't going to matter that it's his room - he can tell that already, looking through the doorway at the scattering of belongings he hadn't taken down to Shril with him. Things that should be familiar, but still can't pierce the emptiness. A smaller space of nothing, but still nothing.]

Yeah. [He answers, irritated but resigned to this. That Bellamy's hand in his was his only option, right now.] Fine.

[ There's not very much in Murphy's room. Bellamy can't help but be a little surprised every time he sees how few things Murphy actually carried up from Concordia. He drops their packs against the wall as he leads Murphy to the bed. ]

I'll stay until it's over.

[ Bellamy doesn't leave room for argument. ]

Does it help when we talk?

[ Troubleshooting, even in the face of Murphy's annoyance, feels necessary. This will likely happen again. Bellamy wants to know how to make it easier for Murphy, even if Murphy begrudges him the proximity. ]

[It's like a wound chafing. Bellamy's presence helps, but it also aggravates; distracts, but keeps bringing focus back. He can feel the frustration growing, building like an itch under his skin, enough that it doesn't matter how it doesn't fit with Bellamy sitting beside him on the bed, Bellamy holding his hand. He's still snapping before he can think about it:]

You know, I'd say yes, but the does it help questions are starting to piss me off, so maybe not.

[ Bellamy's eyes roll in response. The urge to snap back rises, obvious if Murphy cared to look, but he swallows it back. Murphy's frustration is palpable; the itch settles into Bellamy's skin secondhand. ]

Fine.

[ No more questions. Winging it at this point is haphazard enough to make Bellamy wary, but the alternate is just endlessly squabbling about his approach. It seems counterproductive. ]

Lean back. I'll tell you about the Minotaur.

[ Because of course Bellamy's going to pick a crusty old myth. ]

[Murphy looks at him, immediately incredulous at that.]

You're kidding.

Do you have a better idea?

[ He wouldn't be surprised if Murphy suggested they just sit in silence. But a story would be better. It'd pass the time, and hopefully keep the pair of them from snapping each other while he recited it. It was the best option Bellamy felt they had at the moment. ]

Edited 2017-07-09 16:45 (UTC)

[He had had a better idea, back on Concordia. Cut the damn things out. But that plan had fallen through, landed them in jail, the window of opportunity swinging closed behind them as they left.

Bitterness swells, but it isn't enough to make him push away. It's heavy, instead, falling over him like a cloak, threaded through with resignation and fatigue. He looks at Bellamy flatly for another moment, then gives up, leaning away and back against the wall, their joined hands loose on the sheets between them.]

Fine. Whatever. Tell the stupid story.

[ Bellamy doesn't give Murphy any chance to go back on the invitation. He props himself against the wall, thumb rubbing over Murphy's knuckles as he begins to speak.

Part of him still hopes Murphy drifts off to sleep. It still strikes Bellamy as an easier way to ride out blowback than storytelling, but Murphy stays awake, and Bellamy talks his way through the entire debacle of Theseus and the Minotaur. The recitation drags up Octavia's face, young and eager while their mother sews at a table by the bed. Octavia has always been the only person Bellamy had told these stories to. They'd been her only means of escape. The memories tangle with the present, but it's not an unwelcome mingling. There's a pause after the inevitable unhappy ending, before Bellamy tugs lightly on Murphy's hand. ]

Is it passing?

[Murphy doesn't sleep. He doesn't even risk closing his eyes, though the temptation is there as Bellamy tells the story. This is familiar, in part, from hearing him reading. The story plays out in Bellamy's head, in Murphy's own, and for a while it's enough to sink into that, focussed away from the emptiness rising and settling around him.

His frustration's cooled by the time Bellamy finishes, his tone less irritated as he answers. Resignation's taken its place, quiet and tired.]

No.

[He stares, absently, at their joined hands. Sometime during the telling, either he or Bellamy had slid against the wall, pressed together at the shoulder. He doesn't shift away. The contact is still an anchor.]

You were sick all day, at the prison.

[He doesn't say it, but the implication's there. What if this lasted the same amount of time?]

[ Time still goes blurry for him when he's sick. The fever and the fact that he's dropped off to sleep each time has made it hard to keep track. But Murphy's right. It may as well have been a day, considering how long it took Bellamy to be fully back on his feet. ]

You stayed with me.

[ It's a very simple statement, betraying how intimate it had felt for Murphy to be clutched that close in his mind. ]

I have more stories.

[ There's an offer couched there. Murphy's warm against his side, and Bellamy hasn't made a single move to pull away. And he won't, until what Murphy's feeling passes. ]

(no subject)

wrackful - 2017-07-31 20:59 (UTC) - Expand

sticks bow on this

deployed - 2017-07-31 23:26 (UTC) - Expand

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